Christmas at Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 3)

by Kate Hewitt

  She’d bought Roger a Christmas present, although she still didn’t know whether they would spend the day together as they hadn’t had that discussion, and she felt a bit nervous bringing it up. Perhaps he wanted to be alone with Ellen, since it would most likely be her last Christmas. In any case, no matter how they spent the day, she could still give him a present. It had been nice to have someone to buy a present for. She’d enjoyed selecting it and wrapping it, and she wanted to watch Roger open it, whether that was on Christmas Day or not.

  “So this is the manor,” Roger remarked as they came to the front door of the stately building, candles glinting and flickering in its downstairs windows and a large wreath decorating its front door. “Where I shall meet my dancing doom.”

  “I thought you did very well in Monday’s rehearsal,” Lindy reassured him. Admittedly, all three of her classes had stumbled a bit as they’d practised their routines for the last time before the dress rehearsal this week, but their hearts were all in the right place and she firmly believed—well, hoped, anyway—that once they were in the manor’s ballroom, with its mirrored walls and chandeliers, the music swelling up and everyone watching, they would rise magnificently to the occasion, Roger included.

  “Lindy!” Henry threw open the door as soon as Lindy had knocked, and gave her a wide smile and then Roger an appraising look.

  “And you must be Roger.”

  “You are correct,” Roger replied as they shook hands. As she looked at the pair of them, Lindy realised they were wearing almost identical outfits of khakis and blue button-down shirts; the only difference was Henry’s shirt was a darker blue and had cufflinks. For some reason the realisation made her start to laugh.

  Both men turned to look at her in politely baffled enquiry, and their expressions were so similar that Lindy found herself laughing harder, one hand clutching her stomach.

  “What on earth’s going on here?” Alice asked, smiling, as she came round the corner, only to stop as she took in the sight—Lindy now helpless with laughter, and Henry and Roger standing side by side, both looking bemused. “Oh,” she said.

  “Roger and I are scratching our heads here, trying to figure out what’s so funny,” Henry said, doing his best to be a genial host. Lindy feared she might be annoying him with her amusement, but honestly, there was just something hilarious about them standing together like that.

  “It’s just,” Alice said, “you look a bit like twins.”

  “Twins…you mean, what we’re wearing?” Henry asked as he inspected himself.

  “We are wearing quite similar clothes,” Roger allowed.

  “It’s more than the clothes,” Alice said thoughtfully, her hands on her hips. “I think…actually…you’re quite similar in looks and perhaps even in personality. Henry, you have darker hair, and Roger, you’re taller, but…there is definitely a vibe going on.”

  “A vibe?” Henry repeated blankly.

  “I think,” Roger offered, “that your wife is implying we are of a similar nature.” He paused. “That is, I think we might both be…anoraks.”

  “You mean raincoats?” Henry exclaimed, truly baffled now, and Lindy laughed harder, all her anxieties swept away in a moment. As Henry and Roger gave each other commiserating smiles, she thought the evening was going to be just fine.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “It’s a good thing everything’s going wrong, right?” Lindy’s voice took on a ragged, manic edge as she gave Alice a half-crazed look. It was the Friday afternoon before the ball, and the day of the dress rehearsal for the performance.

  Lindy had thought she’d been organised—having her four six-year-olds come first, and then the Year Sixes, and finally her evening class, which was how the order of performances would go on the night. Everyone had practised, outfits had been approved, the speakers set up, and Lindy had even made flyers to hand out to guests in case they were interested in classes.

  Despite all that, at half past four on Friday afternoon she felt as if things were falling apart. First there had been Ollie, her little superstar who was so excited to perform at the ball…until he’d tried on his beloved tuxedo and found it no longer fit.

  “He’s had a growth spurt,” Will explained helplessly. “He’s devastated.”

  So devastated he no longer wanted to dance in the performance, which had left Emma without a partner, and therefore in tears. Lindy had only just managed to cheer Ollie up enough to at least try dancing in the ballroom with the cool mirrors when she’d received a text from Dan Rhodes, the primary school’s head teacher, telling her that five of the twenty-eight Year Sixes were backing out.

  “Five?” Lindy had told Alice. “Five?”

  “Cold feet?” Alice had surmised with a sympathetic smile, but Lindy had felt like tearing her hair out. She was going to have to re-choreograph the whole thing, and it meant one pupil was without a partner.

  “Nothing had better go wrong with the evening class,” she told Alice rather savagely as she downed a cup of tea in the manor kitchen. The house was decorated to the hilt and looked absolutely gorgeous—scented with evergreen and cinnamon, the tree in the foyer its crowning glory. It was eleven days before Christmas and yesterday morning it had actually snowed. Only a little—barely a dusting—but Lindy had been happy to see it.

  In general, until this disaster of a dress rehearsal, she’d been very happy indeed. The dinner with Alice and Henry had been, somewhat to both her and Roger’s surprise, a roaring success—Henry and Roger had talked business and then detective novels of all things while Alice and Lindy had gossiped about village life and then they’d both glanced at Henry and Roger nattering away—well, Roger was mainly listening, but still—and Alice had rolled her eyes.

  “BFFs, those two are,” she said.

  Later, in the kitchen, Lindy had helped with the washing up while Henry and Roger had gone to bring in more firewood.

  “Hunting and gathering at its modern best,” Alice had teased. “I’m sure they feel very manly.”

  Lindy had enjoyed chatting with Alice, and she’d even been bold enough to ask her if everything was all right; there had been that brittleness from before, and occasionally Lindy wondered if it was back again.

  “Everything’s wonderful,” Alice assured her and then said with a little, uncertain laugh, “Actually brilliant. It’s too early to start shouting it from the rooftops, but…I’m pregnant.”

  “Oh, Alice, that’s wonderful!”

  “I only found out a few weeks ago,” Alice confessed. “And we’ve been trying for a while. I even had some tests done, when I was worried something might be wrong. But nothing was, and now I’m pregnant and it’s wonderful, but I feel as if I’m walking on eggshells. I’m afraid something’s going to go wrong.” She gave an abashed smile as Lindy hugged her.

  “I don’t blame you, especially when you’ve been working yourself down to the bone over the ball! You must let me help more.”

  “I’ll take you up on that, actually,” Alice said. “I’m exhausted.”

  “That went better than I expected,” Roger told Lindy later, as they walked back to Willoughby Close. “Far better.”

  “Perhaps we can do it again sometime,” Lindy had said teasingly, and Roger had given her a serious look.

  “Sometime,” he agreed, “but not too soon.”

  That had only been two days ago, but it felt like a lifetime as Lindy had dashed about the village, sorting out last-minute costume changes—the Year Sixes were all wearing black with either red or green sashes, but it had been late in the day when Lindy had realised they needed more fabric—as well as completing the safeguarding assessments and checking she had permission slips from every parent.

  She’d also been doing her best to take some of the burden of preparation off Alice, and had been running around fetching last-minute decorations for the ball—another dozen champagne flutes, ten more yards of crimson ribbon. Her head felt as if it were in a thousand places, and she’d nearly cried
with relief when Roger had shown up at the manor at three o’clock with a six-pack of Coke and a smile.

  “Why aren’t you at work?” she’d exclaimed as she’d reached for one of the cans.

  “I took the afternoon off. I need to get ready for my big performance.” But what he’d actually done was help her with all the last-minute details, including giving Ollie a cheering speech and the offer of a fedora, which Ollie decided he’d prefer to a tuxedo.

  “I did not think you were the type of man to have a fedora,” Lindy told him, and Roger had raised his eyebrows as he gave her what she thought was meant to be a mysterious look.

  “There are many things you don’t know about me,” he said, and then, smiling wryly, added, “It was a joke gift at an office Christmas party. Do you think he’ll mind that it’s made of plastic?”

  Fortunately Ollie didn’t.

  “Back into the fray,” Lindy told Alice a bit grimly as she finished her tea and headed out of the kitchen. She needed to do a final run through with what remained of the Year Sixes before the last practice for her evening class. Roger had already left to fetch his mother.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Alice assured her. “And remember what you said yourself—it’s not about having a performance of superstars, it’s about getting a community together and supporting one another, as well as having fun.”

  “Right.” Except now that the moment had almost arrived, Lindy realised she’d like to be able to show off a little, or at least not have her performance be a complete disaster.

  “Right, you lot,” she told the Year Sixes who were milling around the ballroom, having been plied with Penguin biscuits and hot chocolate, “it’s time to get down to business. I know we’ve made some changes, but I’m sure you can do this.”

  To compensate for the poor girl who no longer had a partner, Lindy had choreographed a switching in and out of partners for the waltz sections, with one person whirling in and out of the couples. She just hoped it worked. At least the hip-hop section still did; the deserters hadn’t been keen on that part either, and she hoped the whole performance was stronger without the lurkers, although she still wished they’d decided to take part.

  “Ready, one, two, three…!” She turned on the music, and the dancing began. It did work, she realised, even with a bit of stumbling and fumbling, and the kids who were here were glad to be here. Her heart filled up with hope and gratitude, and she laughed out loud when the music changed to a street beat and the pupils moved from a waltz to break dancing.

  “That is brilliant,” Alice enthused as she came to the doorway of the ballroom. “I absolutely love it.”

  Forty-five minutes later, the weary Year Sixes were trooping out, and Lindy headed back to the kitchen to grab a quick bite with Alice and Henry before her last rehearsal of the evening. Roger and his mother had been hoping to join them, but as the rehearsal ended, Lindy got a text saying they’d have to eat at home to conserve Ellen’s energy.

  “How is she doing?” Alice asked with a frown as she dished out beef stew and dumplings and Lindy collapsed into the armchair with the cat Andromeda on her lap.

  “She’s hanging in there,” Lindy said as a pang of sorrow tore at her heart. She’d seen Ellen several times in the last few weeks, and on every occasion she’d seemed just a little more tired, a little bit less. It was heartbreaking to watch, and yet she couldn’t help but admire Ellen’s steely spirit. She was determined to dance.

  “How are all the preparations for the ball going?” Lindy asked as the three of them dug into their dinners. “The house looks amazing.”

  “I think it’s all in hand,” Alice as she glanced at Henry. “You did pick up the champagne, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did,” Henry assured her. “As well as some sparkling elderflower cordial.” He gave her a smiling look and Alice blushed prettily.

  “We’re having the food catered—just hors d’oeuvres and cakes—but Henry was in charge of the alcohol.”

  “A fearsome responsibility,” Lindy said with a smile. She was looking forward to the party part of the evening, at least once the dancing was over. Butterflies swarmed again as she thought of all her pupils, ready to dance their hearts out. She so hoped it went well, for their sakes more than her own.

  She knew what a huge confidence booster it could be to dance well in public; when she’d taken part in several local competitions during her Sixth Form years she’d felt as if she were flying on top of the world. She wanted that for her pupils—for them to feel good about themselves and what they’d accomplished, not least of all Roger, who she knew was still approaching the performance the way someone might a tooth extraction. Necessary but painful and deeply unpleasant.

  Lindy helped Alice clear up after dinner, and then went to set up for her last rehearsal of the day. Outside night had fallen, and the ballroom, with its mirrors and chandeliers, felt both cosy and elegant.

  Helena arrived first, her cheeks red with cold as she unwound a massive scarf from around her neck. “You’ll never believe it, Lindy! My dad is coming tomorrow night!”

  “Helena, that’s wonderful.” Lindy gave her a quick hug. “I’m so, so pleased.”

  “Now I just need not to fall on my face,” Helena said wryly.

  “You haven’t yet,” Lindy reminded her. “And you are very light on your feet.”

  Simon and Olivia came in next, followed by Maureen, and as Lindy greeted them all she sneaked a peek at her phone, hoping for a message from Roger, but there was nothing. It was after seven and she needed to start the dress rehearsal, but she hated the thought of beginning without Ellen.

  “Why don’t I start walking you through the steps,” she suggested, and Olivia gave her a worried look.

  “Is Ellen okay?”

  “Yes, she’s just conserving her energy.” Lindy tried to look cheerful. “She’ll be here soon, I’m sure. I know she wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “Of course not,” Olivia returned quickly, and an unhappy silence followed as they all contemplated why Ellen might miss it. But no, of course she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She’d had so much strength and good humour so far, Lindy thought. Surely she could keep going another twenty-four hours?

  “They’re here,” Maureen announced in a tone of great satisfaction. “I knew Ellen would come.”

  “Roger…” Lindy almost ran to hug him before she remembered that she’d kept their dating status on the down low for her dance class, at least until after the ball, mainly to avoid Maureen’s unfiltered comments.

  “Hello, everyone.” Ellen’s smile was wan but determined and she clutched Roger’s arm. She looked as if a single breath could blow her away, and for a moment Lindy wondered if she should even be here. What if this was simply too much for her?

  “Is this going to be okay?” she asked Roger in a low voice as she set up the music. “I don’t want your mum to do something that could endanger her…”

  “She’s absolutely insistent.” Roger smiled tiredly. “I told her not to come. She’s been sleeping all day, and she hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday.” His mouth tightened as he shook his head. “But she refused. This is what she wants.”

  Lindy laid a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry…”

  “She’s happy,” he said simply. “That’s what matters.”

  Still, Lindy strove to keep things easy as she put on the music and had everyone walk, rather than dance, through their steps. Roger had brought a chair for Ellen to sit in between practices, and she ended up sitting out the samba, assuring everyone she was fine but she wanted to conserve her energy, and she was “brilliant at the samba, anyway.”

  “You certainly are,” Lindy agreed, even though her heart was breaking. There was something so tragic about Ellen’s determination, as well as incredibly inspiring.

  “I’m trying not to cry,” Olivia whispered during their tea break, “but if you’re wondering why I keep nipping to the loo, that’s why.”

  Lin
dy gave her a sympathetic smile. She’d felt near tears herself on more than one occasion, but she was doing her best to keep a stiff upper lip for Ellen’s sake. She knew how important this was to her.

  “I know you’re trying to keep things low-key for my sake,” Ellen told her when she’d taken the cups back to the kitchen, following her into the cosy room with an effort that alarmed Lindy, “but please don’t. I’m well aware this is my last hurrah, Lindy. I’m conserving energy for this, not for something later.”

  “But there’s still Christmas…” Lindy protested rather feebly. She didn’t know how to handle the steely glint in Ellen’s eye.

  “By Christmas I’ll be in hospice. Roger doesn’t want to admit it, but it was always going this way. I made the reservation myself. I can go in the day after the ball.”

  “Does Roger know?” Lindy asked, because he certainly hadn’t mentioned it to her.

  “I’ve told him,” Ellen said with a sigh. “But he always says we can talk about it later. Unfortunately, that only works for so long.”

  “But I’m sure he’d want to be with you for Christmas,” Lindy said gently. “Don’t you think so? A…a last Christmas together?”

  “I’d rather hoped he’d spend it with you,” Ellen told her with a smile. “You love him. At least, I think you do.” Lindy blushed, and Ellen smiled in understanding. “I’m afraid I’ve become a bit plainer in my speech. That happens when you know your days are running out.”

  “I do love him,” Lindy said in a low voice. “Although I haven’t told him yet.”

  “There’s time enough for that. But I can’t tell you how much it helps, knowing he won’t be alone. I realise how difficult and prickly Roger can be sometimes, but I’m sure you know as well as I do now what a good heart he has.”